


Lady of the Rocks

by wanderingmusician



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Fem!Bilbo Baggins - Freeform, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Language Barrier, M/M, Multi, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin is a Softie, What am I doing, basically everyone - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2018-12-30 18:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12114501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingmusician/pseuds/wanderingmusician
Summary: Hobbits have secrets so well kept no other race knows a secret exists. But after the Fell Winter the Shire is in desperate need of an alliance – even if it means exposing their secrets and losing the Thain’s most precious granddaughter.The kingdom of Erebor has rich mines and talented smiths but dwarrow are not natural farmers and they struggle to feed their people. After a dragon attack ruins the lands surrounding the Lonely Mountain, hobbits are just what they need.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The tag up there that says "what am I doing?" It's true. For some reason I really want to see Thorin trying to help teach fem!Bilbo how to speak in Westron and trying really hard because he's a softie but he's also not super good at being patient (there's a reason Dwalin is Fili and Kili's fighting instructor). And fem!Bilbo (Bella) is terrified by the changes in her life but she's trying really hard and thinks this imposing dwarf King might not be so bad. 
> 
> Nothing is beta'd and I can pretty much only write between 12pm-1am so please point out mistakes. I do my best to proof read; but I'm also tired.

Belladonna Took was married to Bungo Baggins in the year 1285, Shire Reckoning. Five years later – longer than most hobbits waited but what do you expect from the wildest daughter of the Tooks - the couple was expecting their first child. Their daughter was named after her mother at Bungo’s request, so that there might always be a beautiful lady in Bag End. 

For years Bella was a happy, laughing child with eyes brighter and smile wider than any other fauntling in the Shire. But after her child’s fifth birthday Belladonna grew tired of what her life had become – all hosting tea and going to the market and never going on a single adventure. She needn’t go on a large adventure, she told Bungo. In fact, they could do something as a family. A safe little Shire adventure. 

So it was that Bungo, Belladonna, and little Bella Baggins set off in a boat to spend an afternoon on the Brandywine. Hobbits, however, are known neither for their great sailing skills or their experience in building boats. And thus when the vessel struck a large rock it immediately began filling with water and went down. Bungo, who had never known anything but a life of leisure and certainly had never swam, drowned before he could even think of which shore was closest. Belladonna was better suited to swimming, having splashed around in the small pond the Tooks kept stocked with fish as a child in Tuckborough. But many years out of practice and carrying her child, the hobbit went under more than once before reaching the shore. 

Gorbadoc Brandybuck and his wife Mirabella, sister to Belladonna, were smoking outside Brandybuck Hall and saw Belladonna struggling for the shore. Running to the river banks, they reached her just as she finished pulling herself out of the water. As Gorbadoc led Belladonna to the warmth of Brandy Hall Mirabella stripped the soaking dress from Bella and wrapped the babe in her dry jacket. Miraculously, little Bella seemed not to have swallowed any water from the river. Belladonna, though, could not seem to stop coughing up the dark water. 

Belladonna Baggins died a week after her husband, in her beloved Bag End. An infection in the lungs, the healer said. Her father Gerontius wept by her bedside through the night, his grandchild held tightly to his chest, and resisted any efforts to take the girl from him.

Gorbadoc and Mirabella offered to adopt the now orphaned Belladonna. Having two children already – Rorimac and Primula – and Mirabella pregnant again they were sure the little child would settle quickly into their lively home. Gerontius, struck by the grief of losing his favorite child and having lost his wife Adamanta only a year before, refused them and declared he would raise little Bella. 

Slightly mad with grief, Gerontius became convinced that Belladonna was sent to him by Yavanna herself. For eighteen years Bella wanted for nothing. She had the finest tutors the Thain could find in math, medicine, and that peculiar magic hobbits have but refuse to name. She spent her days in the gardens of Tuckborough; and any change or plant she wished for them was granted at once. The only thing she was not allowed, was contact with the world outside the Shire. Her grandfather would not even allow her to be taught Westron, which most hobbits learned as fauntlings. Belladonna, he declared, would never leave the Shire and thus never need to speak anything other than Hobbitish. 

It was when Bella had just turned 32 that the harvest season was cut short by an early freeze which gripped the Shire and refused to let go. The winter was worse than any other in hobbit history and grain stores, already less than usual, were depleted before the cold showed any sign of retreating. Wolves and worse crossed the Brandywine and hobbits were forced to fight for their homes for the first time in centuries. Many died of starvation, others to sickness, and more to the wolves and wargs. 

Gerontius Took did not die that winter, but he was changed. Weak from the constant hunger, he had survived only because of his granddaughter’s tireless efforts to fight the cough that settled in his chest. The once strong hobbit never recovered, and as spring warmed he handed the Thainship to his son, Isengrim III. 

Isengrim knew that the Shire could not survive another winter such as the Fell Winter alone. After meeting with Gorbadoc, who was now Master of Buckland, and Fosco Baggins, Mayor of Michel Delving, he sent a letter to Erebor to open talks of an alliance.


	2. árædan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect frequent short updates for now. I'll forget to post otherwise tbh. Also wow there was a response to this? Now I'm nervous guys.   
> Chapter titles are words translated into Old English with an online translator that I feel are slightly relevant to chapter content, but they aren't important. Because the Shire is clearly modeled after the shires of England I'm using Old English for Hobbitish. 
> 
> Also I have a pin board of things that are inspirations or visual models for this story. https://www.pinterest.com/wanderingmusician/lady-of-the-rock/

Primula stands behind Bella, carefully braiding her hair around her head. Peach blossoms from Bella’s garden are laid out on a table at her side, ready to be weaved in. The sounds of a feast being prepared elsewhere in the Great Smial can be heard faintly, though the sound of birdsong just outside the window is louder. Occasionally one of the hobbits setting up a great tent in front of the smial releases a loud invective. 

“They say he killed a dragon when it attacked Erebor.” Primula offers this information hesitantly, trying to capture the attention of her cousin. It works, and Bella’s eyes meet hers in the tarnished mirror she sits before. 

“A dragon? How on Arda?” There is interest in her cousin’s voice. For all that she has never spoken of leaving the Shire and her beloved grandfather, most all of her cousins know that Bella has always longed to follow in her mother’s footsteps and go on adventures. She has read every story that could be found in the Shire and the tales passing Rangers bring are always translated for her with haste. 

Primula shrugs. War is not a common topic of conversation for hobbits and her understanding of weaponry beyond identifying it as sword, axe, or bow is limited. “Some sort of giant crossbow, I believe.” 

Bella is silent for another minute as Primula begins weaving the delicate flowers into the crown of hair. “How am I to marry a dwarf about whom I know nothing, other than he is a dragonslayer and a king, who I cannot even speak with?” Her cousin is agitated, though Primula privately thinks Bella ought to be more furious than she is. Hands resting lightly on either side of her face, Primula does her best to offer comfort. 

“Asphodel and Adalgrim will be traveling with us and we will all set about teaching you Westron as quickly as possible. And I will translate for you, of course.” Bella does not seem to be content with this answer, but the arrival of Fortinbras and Adalgrim cuts off any retort. 

Adalgrim is complaining about the treaty of course, though Primula suspects he is rather looking forward to the adventure. He is a Took through and through, even if his mother was a Baggins. 

“How can the dwarves of a far off mountain even help us? Should we send word of an attack any army would arrive two months too late!”

Fortinbras sighs and pulls his cousin down to sit on the bed in the middle of the room. “But Ered Luin is a colony of Erebor and close enough to build and man a garrison in the Shire. And they will train those of us who are willing, to use a bow if nothing else.”

The younger Took wore a mulish expression but said no more. He and Fortinbras had just returned from an expedition to Bree - an effort to gather more information on the dwarves of Erebor – and Fort would want to be the one to share their findings. 

The two female hobbits know Fortinbras is upset about something he has learned before he even opens his mouth, the hard line of his lips and way he fidgets with the fingers of his left hand a clear giveaway. He visibly struggles with what to say before speaking. 

“I am sure they don’t know what they speak of, but some of the men in Bree joked that dwarves are in need of ‘Hobbit magic.’ The lands around Erebor have never produced much yield, and there are rumors the race of dwarves is dying out. The attack of the dragon Smaug has certainly not helped matters. Men say the dwarves are cursed.” 

All three pairs of eyes have been fixed on him since the words “hobbit magic” left his tongue. It is Primula who regains her voice first, doing her best to project confidence. “The Men of Breeland have always joked about hobbit magic and it is nothing more than that too them. A silly superstition about the silly little folk in the Shire.” She pauses and nods, as if convincing herself. “Should any of them mention it to the dwarves they will surely dismiss it as superstition.”

Bella twists her hands in her lap, staring at them intently for a moment before looking up and meeting Fortinbras’s eyes. “It sounds like perhaps they do need our help. Surely such a great nation would not have even considered a treaty with us, unless they truly need help.” 

Fortinbras and Adalgrim exchanged a long glance. Bella is right and she knows it. In exchange for military protection, Erebor has requested assistance in cultivating their lands and any shipments of crops that can be spared until the land is producing well. And had it been one of the normal Men to mention a curse they would have dismissed the idea out of hand. But the old Ranger who spoke of Durin’s Bane, a lost nation, and dragonfire was unsettling. 

It was Adalgrim who broke the silence this time. “Everyone knows dwarves are rubbish at farming. They just need a couple hobbits to tell them to till the soil and water the seeds and everything will be just fine, you’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Some sort of giant crossbow" = imagine (GoT spoilers!) the weapon Bronn used to shoot Drogon.


	3. bréostgehygd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally have a dwarf and Bella indulges in some introspection. 
> 
> I think I spent more time staring at maps of Middle Earth and listening to youtube videos of Old English and Neo-Khuzdul than writing this one tbh. Did y'all know that the Dwarrow Scholar has a youtube channel with Khuzdul lessons?

Thorin has been engaged to a hobbit for over a month now, and has had no idea what one actually looks like until now. His company marches into the Shire from the west, having split and gone around the Shire on their way to Ered Luin so they could have a better understanding of the borders to their new protectorate. They saw few hobbits in their march through the rolling fields but now, as they make their way south through Hobbiton, the streets are lined with the small people. 

They bear characteristics of Men, Elves, and Dwarrow but are at once uniquely something else. Their ears are pointed but not as slender as elves, their proportions more like men than dwarf, although they are shorter than either. And although they are not nearly as solid as a dwarf would be Thorin can see that these creatures, like his own race, bear a strength not proportionate to their size. Their smooth faces are a bit disconcerting. Thorin thinks they must not grow any facial hair, as he cannot see a single hobbit with even the shadow of a beard. Their strangely bare feet seem to sprout all the hair that should be on their faces. 

The adults are clearly gossiping, but keep their voices low enough as to not be heard by the passing dwarrow. Hobbit children however, are not so polite. 

“What’s on their faces?” One child yells, and an even smaller one replies quickly in a language Thorin does not recognize, though he can interpret the smug tone of voice well enough. The small gaggle of children is ahead of his company and Thorin can see an older child – one close to adulthood he thinks – shush the smallest. 

“Oh what’s the use,” another not-quite-adult Hobbit replies, sounding quite put out. “He’s marrying Bella he’ll know about it soon enough.” 

Thorin is taken aback at the inflection put on his intended’s name and exchanges a glance with Balin, who has clearly noticed the same thing. There is something going on here, and he would like to know what it is sooner rather than later. 

\----------------------------

From the top of the hills of Tuckborough Bella can see a group of dwarves coming from Hobbiton. Her future husband is in that group, she knows, although she does not know what he looks like. Doesn’t know what any dwarf looks like, really. She has only ever seen other Hobbits and sometimes the wizard Gandalf. 

She has heard stories of Thorin son of Thrain, called Oakenshield and now Dragonslayer. Names that have been won in battle, instead of surnames. Bella thinks he must be very fierce, a quality not at all hobbit-like and she isn’t sure how to feel about it. Her mother would be very proud, she thinks. Her only daughter marrying a dwarf king. 

Memories of her mother are clear, vivacious and bright as she was. Between her own memories and her grandfather’s many stories about Belladonna’s childhood and the time before she married it is easy to imagine her mother’s thoughts. Bella’s memories of her father are less clear. Bungo was a good father, she knows this. But he was always more reserved than her mother, displaying affection in his own understated way, and Gerontius does not talk about Bungo much. She thinks he would not be so approving of this match. The Baggins clan is everything proper – and this marriage is not. Bella rather thinks her Baggins family would be happier if she were marrying a lesser dwarf lord or merchant. A king is considered far too mighty for a simple hobbit. 

Propriety and fierceness aside, Bella’s true worry is that she cannot speak to her future husband. Primula has started teaching her Westron but it is slow going. Much of Bella’s remaining time in the Shire is spent comforting her grandfather who is distraught that she will be leaving him and the Shire, to live in a mountain so very far away. He will not hear a word of Westron from her. Primula and Adalgrim assure her that immersion in the language will speed her learning immensely. It is how fauntlings are taught; when it is time to teach their children the common tongue parents and siblings will refuse to speak a word of Hobbitish in the home. 

Indignant as she is as at being compared to a fauntling – she is (just barely) an adult after all – Bella knows they are right. So she applies herself to the children’s stories written in Westron at night and sneaks in what words she can during the day, mostly when Gerontius is sleeping which happens more often now, or when she tends her garden with Primula. 

Bella is confident that she has a number of basic phrases down. Her accent is terrible, she knows. A lifetime of the long rolling sounds of Hobbitish does not lend itself well to the shorter, faster sounds that make up Common. She only hopes that the dwarves, and Thorin in particular, have patience with her.

Primula will have their heads if they don’t.


	4. gemænsumian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished writing this at 2am and took nearly a minute to figure out how to spell "unfortunately" and then proceeded to misspell another two times. So let me know if you find mistakes. I've looked it over but if I miss something once I'm likely to miss it again. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented/subscribed/left kudos! I love you all! I never imagined this getting such a good reception.

Thorin’s company arrives at Tuckborough just after the hobbits had taken their afternoon tea. Thorin, Balin, and Nori continue to the garden at the main entrance to the Great Smial while the small company of guards lead their ponies to a barn set aside for their use. 

A small party of Hobbits awaits in the garden; a few just finishing their tea. Three rise to greet Thorin as he approaches. The eldest, a hobbit who appears to be middle-aged and wearing a hunting horn at his hip which was actually made out of a cow horn, introduces himself with a small bow. 

 

“Isengrim Took, Thain of the Shire, at your service.” The tall hobbit gestures his two companions forward.

“Primula Brandybuck at your service, my lord.” Primula is of more average height for her race, though Thorin notes she seems leaner, with sharper edges, than most of the hobbits they’ve seen so far. There is a moment of silence, in which Primula gestures somewhat frantically at the hobbit lady next to her. 

“Belladonna Baggins, at your service.” The other two hobbits spoke nearly flawless Westron with little trace of an accent. But the words which leave Belladonna’s pretty mouth are long and the cadence is off. Thorin wonders if the Shire is really large enough to produce such different accents.

It is as Balin and Nori introduce themselves that Thorin catches it – Belladonna Baggins. Bella Baggins. He has just met his future wife. Surreptitiously he looks over her form again. She is all gentle curves and a soft face, with hair twisted in braids around her head and flowers weaved in. He thinks they might be peach blossoms, but the Shire boasts so many varieties of fruit trees he can’t know for certain. All told she is not what he ever expected his spouse to look like, but he cannot bring himself to complain. 

Isengrim leads them further into the garden and introduces Asphodel and Adalgrim, who will be traveling to Erebor with Primula and Belladonna. He calls for refreshments, declaring that the weather being so amiable they might as well begin their discussions in the garden. Isengrim and Adalgrim thoroughly question the dwarrow on the amount of land available for crops and pasture, what livestock they have, the climate of Erebor, and countless other agricultural things Thorin has hardly ever given a passing thought. Luckily Balin is more than capable of providing answers, and what he can’t answer is dutifully written down on a paper that will be sent to Erebor by raven. 

Attention wandering, the king notices that Primula seems to be constantly whispering in Belladonna’s ear. Reaching for his tea to cover the gesture, Thorin discretely signs to Nori in Iglishmek, a general sign for a question accompanied with a gesture to the two hobbits. The spy is better situated to listen in, and his position is such that he can sign back to Thorin without the hobbits noticing. 

“Can’t understand,” he signs, brow slightly furrowed. “Hobbit language maybe?” 

If hobbits had their own language it was an even better kept secret than Khuzdul. Nori had a passing familiarity with most languages of Arda, recognizing them even if he could not understand or speak them all. Thorin frowned to himself. It made sense that hobbits would have their own language – every other race did. Why had no one thought about it before? 

Conversation moved from agriculture to plans for the wedding which would cement the alliance and the Shire’s new status as a protectorate of Erebor. It had been agreed by raven that there would be a ceremony in both the Shire and Erebor, as a sign that Erebor would treat her new state with the respect due to an equal. Balin had requested a description of marriage rites in the Shire, thankfully, as they were quite different from the traditional dwarven ceremony. 

There was to be a short hand-fasting ceremony and an exchange of flowers followed by hours of dancing, wine, and food. The night of their wedding, hobbit couples were welcomed into the new home they would share together by close family and friends. Nori, who had went through Hobbiton to learn more about the small race while the rest of the company travelled around the Shire border, reported that the wedding night seemed to be the most important part of the whole thing for hobbits – something about a blessing from Yavanna. They had been reluctant to speak of it to an outsider and he confessed to having no true idea whether anything was expected or not.

A dwarven wedding was a much longer affair, with vows and speeches from both the couple and their friends and family, as well as an exchanging of gift between the two dwarrow getting married. While feasting and dancing also followed the ceremony, dwarrow held no expectations for that night. If a couple were marrying it was to be assumed they had already lay together, and had probably been living together since their engagement at least. And if they hadn’t that was no ones’ business but their own. 

The hobbits spoke of what flowers were to be used and how many courses should be served. Having little knowledge of the meanings ascribed to plants Thorin and Balin mostly agreed with whatever was suggested, though they did put in a request of good ale for their company. Through it all Thorin noticed that his fiancée remained quiet, only whispering occasionally to Primula. 

“Bella would request that their wedding night be spent in Bag End,” Primula addressed the company. “She should like to spend her final days in the Shire in her childhood home.” 

While Balin and Isengrim agreed; Thorin could not restrain himself any longer. “And why does Miss Baggins not speak for herself?” 

There was a gasp from the smallest hobbit, Asphodel, as Primula continued whispering in Bella’s ear. Bella’s eyes shot to Thorin and she noticeably drew in on herself as her friend finished whispering.

“I do believe I sent a raven to you in Ered Luin regarding this, my lord.” Primula’s voice was frosty and her face even colder. The only other person who Thorin has ever heard say "my lord" in a tone at once condescending but entirely respectful is Dis. He is reluctantly impressed. “Bella has never learned Westron, but began lessons immediately when it was decided she would marry you. Unfortunately even our dear Belladonna cannot learn fluency in only a month.”

Balin and Nori were glaring at Thorin with expressions that promised words would be had later. “The raven must have been lost,” his voice came out stiff. That was a lie and even if the hobbits didn’t realize it, Balin had seen the small pile of unopened or half read correspondence on the desk in Thorin’s Ered Luin rooms. “I make my most sincere apologies for the slight.” And truly, he is sorry. It is irritating but not entirely unexpected that his wife, who is from a small and isolated country, does not speak Common. He has clearly wounded her feelings and this is definitely not how he wanted to start a relationship that will last the rest of his life. 

Asphodel turned her nose up at the dwarrow as Primula again whispered to Bella. She was translating, he realized. He vaguely recalled reading in one of the many correspondence that had flown between him and the Thain that one of the hobbits would be acting as a translator. And her accent, so much more pronounced than any of the others. Not just an accent, but the unsteady voice of someone unfamiliar with the words they were speaking. 

“Yes, well we can’t all be perfect I suppose.” Primula sniffed. Bella laid a hand on her arm and glanced warningly at the other hobbit before looking pointedly at Thorin. “Bella accepts your apology.” The two hobbits stood in tandem and Primula reached for Asphodel’s hand as well. 

“We really must retire now and prepare for the evening. Until dinner, Master Dwarves.” And with a slight curtsy from each of them, the female hobbits were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Thorin's and idiot but he's not a malicious idiot. And he did have one quite intelligent thought in here.


	5. frihtrung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bella's point of view just does not want to happen for me, hence the wait for this chapter. Let me know how you guys feel about it. The end of my competition season (I compete horses in a sport called eventing, look it up it's awesome) is coming up so I'll be busy prepping for that but still expect at least a chapter a week, though they will probably continue to be short.

“He’s so big.” Bella says softly, looking fixedly at a number of seeds laying on the table in front of her. Sitting on the bed behind her, adding a few yellow carnations into her braid, Primula makes a soft sound encouraging her to continue. “I’ve never, I mean. With you and...” Her voice trails off, worry pinching her brows. “That was different, though.”

“You know we can still get you out of this. We could run away – to Harlond by the sea, or even Rohan.” Primula sounds serious. Bella knows that if she but said the word her friend would leave with her that night. Shaking her head, she gathers the thirteen seeds in a carved wooden cup, shakes it, and spills them onto the table again. Primula peers over her shoulder to look at the seeds. 

Bella slams the cup down next to the scattered seeds and meets Primula’s eyes. “No. The children of Yavanna and Aulë must join together. We must.” She doesn’t miss the flash of unease that goes through her cousin’s eyes but ignores it. “I do not know why, but she has told me that much and I will not doubt our Lady.”

Primula breaks eye contact and looks pointedly away from the seeds, and the small symbols carved on them. “Well at least he’s attractive.” She flushes at a pointed look from Bella. “I may not be interested but I can still appreciate.” 

The other hobbit has never been completely comfortable with divination, railing against the idea of fate, so Bella will allow her this change of topic. “If only Drogo had known the difference between interest and appreciation.” 

Primula flushes even brighter. “Come on,” she says, sweeping out of the room and pointedly ignoring her cousin. “Let’s go tell the cook to burn Thorin’s dinner.” 

=====================================================================================

Thorin sits at the desk in the room he has been given for their stay in the Great Smials, making a valiant effort to read a book about the meaning of flowers. Isengrim had informed him after dinner last night that he was expected to craft a crown of flowers for the wedding. It was hobbit tradition that the couple exchange flower crowns and in this one aspect of the ceremony it was not acceptable for someone else to weave the crown. Plants were laden with meaning, and the flowers chosen could tell a story of the courtship, hopes for the future, or one’s feelings for their partner. 

Mirabella – he thought she was the mother of the hobbit who translated for Bella – had brought him a heavy tome on flowers and their varied meanings after breakfast. 

He understood the book well enough, but how he was supposed to choose and make a suitable crown for someone he didn’t know was another matter. If there had been a courtship perhaps he could use asters or hydrangeas; to symbolize patience in waiting for marriage or gratitude of her acceptance. It seemed wrong to use anything that might allude love in an arrangement such as theirs, when he did not even know how she felt about it. If she had agreed willingly to the marriage or been reluctant. As to her character, he could only hope. She was beautiful, certainly – amaryllis or gardenias might do, but they felt trite. 

A gentle knock on the open door startles him out of his thoughts. Bella is standing in the doorway, watching him with soft eyes. There was a bouquet in her hands, and at his nod she steps into his room and lays them on the desk. 

“For the crown. My crown.” 

“I thought I was supposed to choose them?” 

She shrugs, incomprehension clear in her eyes, and separates out the three types of flowers she had brought. “Daffodils,” she speaks deliberately, pointing at the first bunch of bright yellow flowers. “Gladiolus,” she struggles with this name and scowls at the pink and red blossoms. “Iris.” 

“Thank you.” Thorin pulls the book towards himself, already flipping to the page for daffodils. He can feel her stare on him for a long moment before she turns and slips out the door, as quiet as her first approach. 

He thinks she must intend the daffodils to mean new beginnings, rather than regard or joy. Gladiolus flowers are easy enough to understand – faithfulness and honor, and it is reassuring to know she intends to honor this marriage even if it isn’t what she would have chosen. The irises are more difficult, until he realizes she has left only blue ones, which the book tells him are a symbol for faith and hope. 

Thorin isn’t sure what she might have faith in, or what she hopes for. He knows that Men do not speak well of dwarves. Perhaps she hopes for a happy marriage, but she might just as easily be hoping for a husband who is not a brute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the seeds Bella is using - I'm basing that on lithomancy (a form of divination where stones or reflected light from them is used to tell the future) but more Hobbitish. Not big fans of stones, hobbits. They spend too much time picking them out of fields before planting season to think of them fondly.
> 
> Also oops sorry sort of alluded to some incest there. Too much Game of Thrones influence I guess.


	6. hæmed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who has been commenting! It means so much to me that anyone enjoys this enough to take the time to comment. 
> 
> Apologies for the late post - I had a horse show this weekend (which went amazing, and again - Eventing, check it out!).

The wedding was put together quickly. Thorin rather thought the hobbits had it planned before he and his company arrived, and receiving his approval on various aspects of the ceremony and following feast was merely a formality. Considering that there was to be a dwarvish ceremony after their arrival in Erebor, he agreed to all the plans put before him, only requesting that the dinner following include ale and game caught by his men, that they might feel more involved in this foreign affair. This had been met with a laugh and easy agreement – all Shire ceremonies boasted wide varieties of fine food and ale he was told. Privately, he wondered why a race so keen on good food would continue to serve him over-cooked dinners. 

Bella had stopped at his room once more, speaking only a few words to him and leaving the crown she had crafted for him to wear. She gave him gladiolus flowers again, woven with sprigs of white heather and peonies. Tucked into the inside of the crown so that it won’t be visible when he wears it, is a single gardenia. The book, which has seen much use in the past couple days, tells him white heather means protection and peonies are for a happy marriage, health, and prosperity. The last is added as an after note, the author comments that it is a symbolism more commonly used to wish for good harvests or rains rather than riches. 

Wryly, Thorin thinks that the one thing he can easily provide is of course something hobbits do not particularly care for. Although after his grandfather and the dragon, Thorin finds that he cares much less for the gems and gold of Erebor. 

The gardenia is trickier to interpret than the others – hidden as it is, the flower must be a private message for him. A bouquet of gardenias would be purity or sweetness, something more suited for a child’s birthday or two young lovers exchanging first gifts. It cannot possibly be for joy. He has not seen much of his fiancé in the two days since arriving, but he has seen enough to gather that while she is not being forced to marry him against her will, she is not joyful. There is only one interpretation left – the gardenia means she finds him lovely. Thorin supposes – hopes – that this is simply her way of telling him she does not find his countenance ugly. Lovely has never been a word applied to him, and he sincerely hopes it never will be.   
=====================================  
Thorin had stayed up late interpreting and inspecting his crown of flowers, and by the time he woke preparations for the ceremony were in full swing. The smells of a feast being prepared wind their way out of the kitchen: the sweetness of cooking fruit, rich bread being baked, and the slight tang of still bloody meat. Outside his window he can see one of the Shire’s gigantic farm horses hooked to a cart filled with folding stools and tables. 

He takes his time grooming his beard and braiding his hair. His clothing is traditional dwarvish garb, although he agreed to go barefoot for the ceremony. After a couple days among the hobbits, Thorin feels strangely self-conscious about his small toes. His longsword is being left in the room, but Thorin find he can’t bear to be completely unarmed, even in this peaceful land. One knife sits invisible in a sheath at his waist, another strapped to his forearm. 

Now it is nearly time to make his way to the Party Tree, where most of the population of the Shire will be in attendance to see the historic, unprecedented, marriage. Gently twining sections of hair around the crown to anchor it, Thorin takes a last glance at himself in the looking glass and is fervently glad that neither Dis nor Frerin made the journey with him.

Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain. Wearing a crown of flowers. They would never let him live it down. 

========================================

Belladonna Baggins waits under the great tree for him, facing away but looking over her shoulder when the crowd begins to murmur at his approach. Thorin’s breath catches at the sight of her. He was not blind to the beauty of his fiancé before, but now, with the pale skin of her back exposed and framed by lace, chestnut hair adorned by the crown he made, and brown eyes lit to gold by the sunlight reflected from them she is stunning. He does not notice the great crowd of hobbits as he walks to meet her before the tree. They take the last few steps to the base of the trunk together, and kneel before a small altar. 

The Old Took is there, presiding over the ceremony which will take his granddaughter from him. He speaks in Hobbitish as Bella and Thorin mix and burn a sequence of herbs and flowers in a delicate china bowl on the altar. When the foliage is turned to ash, the flow of words comes to an end. Thorin picks up the bowl of ash and turns to face his wife. Adalgrim had coached him on this - the couple were to mark each other on the forehead with a personal or family symbol. Gently, Thorin draws a mountain set underneath seven stars on Bella’s forehead, then bows his head and holds the bowl out to her. 

Small fingers dip into the ash and begin tracing a pattern on his brow. Bright eyes meet his for a long moment, and her finger rests motionless between his eyes. As she draws her hand away, as they turn and face the assembled crowd together, hands clasped, he feels as if some part of him he never realized was loose has fallen into its rightful place. 

Thorin does not know his wife. He doesn’t know if the hobbits will be the salvation his people desperately need. But in this moment, crowned with symbols of hope, Thorin allows a small smile to take over his lips and believes that the future may be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh dear thorin allowed himself to have an optimistic thought


	7. bócere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile in Erebor...

Dís is sitting on her brother’s throne, nursing Kíli and fervently wishing for Thorin’s quick return when a raven arrives, bringing news of his company’s departure from the Shire with a small caravan of hobbits. The raven, Quoth, also bears a tightly rolled piece of parchment sent from Balin. After gently undoing the knot holding the message to his leg, Dis directs Quoth to the royal kitchens, where she knows they have recently butchered a sheep and are very likely to still have the eyeballs for him.

Dwalin, who has been patiently standing guard at the entrance all day, and indeed nearly every day since Thorin departed, steps forward quickly at the Princess’s gesture. “Which of the scribes would you deem most trustworthy?”

His brow furrows for a long moment as he thinks. “Nori’s younger brother recently finished his apprenticeship. The Ri family is fiercely loyal and Nori has trusted Ori with some translating.” 

Dis closes her eyes, trying to bring up memories of the youngest Ri brother. Dori and Nori have made names for themselves in their respective trades (though Nori’s isn’t common knowledge) but the youngest brother has not had a chance to do anything particularly noteworthy. He is quiet, that much she can recall, and inherited some affinity for spells from his mother. “Find him and tell him to comb the library for anything we have on Hobbits.”

With a small bow, the guard turns to leave only to be halted as Dis speaks again, “And tell him to prepare for a new job. Apparently my brother’s new wife must be taught Westron.” 

\--------------------------------------

Ori ducked into an aisle that would obscure him from the front desk the moment he saw Dwalin come through the open library doors, and is now watching him from a gap between books as the tall guard speaks to the Master Scribe in charge of the library. He sees the old dwarf gesture towards the area Ori is hiding in and quickly pulls a book off the shelf in an attempt to seem busy if they come near him. 

Ori grimaces as he reads the title of the manuscript he has chosen, The Curse of Fafnir as Witnessed and Studied by his brother Regin. Quickly turning to a page near the beginning, he idly skims it as he listens to heavy footsteps make their way towards him. 

“Her Royal Princess has a message for you, lad. Is there somewhere private we can talk?” Dwalin looks uncomfortable surrounded by towering rows of books, Ori thinks. The guard captain carries twin battle axes on his back, and those alone are enough to set him apart from the few scribes who work in the library. His mohawk and tattoos further highlight the differences between the warrior and the dwarrow who have chosen the written word as their craft. While no self-respecting dwarf would be without a weapon – Ori knows his former teacher carried a full set of throwing knifes and at least one throwing axe at all times – his fellow scribes tend more towards those that can be concealed, and intricately braided hair adorned with delicate beads than more bold forms of expression. 

“No one really visits the library, you know. We won’t be overheard here.” Dwalin glances around suspiciously but Ori is right. Studying texts and writing stories isn’t considered the most dwarvish of activities and as a result the great library of Erebor is usually empty. 

“Find everything you can on hobbits.” His tone is curt, clearly he is eager to leave the library and return to his post protecting the regent. “And get ready to teach one of them Westron.”

The scribes have already pulled what they can find on hobbits, and Ori knows it isn’t much. They seem to be a race even more secretive than dwarrow. It can’t hurt to have a second look, he supposes. Though why Lady Dis would pick him he cannot fathom. “Why would they send us a hobbit who doesn’t speak Westron?”

Dwalin shrugs. “Be a bit hard to send the king back without his new wife, wouldn’t it?” 

Ori’s cheeks flush. “I, ah, surely there’s someone better qualified?” 

Dark eyes stare at Ori. He is used to these drawn out silences from Dwalin. The older dwarf has no patience for those who ramble, and chooses his words with care when he has something important to say. Knowing that Dwalin is simply thinking about his next sentence doesn’t make the experience any less disconcerting for Ori, though, who can’t seem to will his blush away. 

“Loyalty is more important than expertise now. And you’ve proven yourself trustworthy in your work with Nori.”

Dwalin turns and leaves abruptly, without a backwards glance. Ori stares at the book in his hands, trying to get his thoughts in order. Not even a year past his coming of age and just six months since he graduated his apprenticeship and he’s to be a royal tutor. Maybe Dori really was right about the stars of his birth being lucky. Shaking his head slightly, Ori refocuses his eyes on the text before him. 

_When great-uncle Andvari died of infection, having been wounded grievously in a skirmish with Orcs trying to gain entrance to Belegost, he left to Fafnir his favorite ring. A thick band of gold, I confess to believing it rather plain, though later I saw the unintelligible inscription along the inside. Fafnir seemed to become sharper in his deals, more prone to anger after donning the ring, but I thought perhaps he was simply grieving the loss of Andvari, who was the first to begin teaching him smithing and they had ever after been quite close. Not until he journeyed to Erebor to work on the setting for a unique stone they were calling the heart of the mountain did he begin to fall into true madness._

Well this certainly wouldn’t offer any information about the strange people of the Shire, Ori thought. And the antiquated Khuzdul was difficult to parse. Closing the book with a definitive snap, Ori slides it back into its place on the shelf and heads deeper into the library.


	8. áccynn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I don't know what happened here I spent all week trying to plan some more backstory and world building and a journey and this happened. They just wanted to be all sappy before they start arguing with each other I guess.  
> Speech in italics is Hobbitish.

It was late into the evening when Thorin and Bella were released from the celebrations and made their way to Bag End, accompanied by a small entourage of Primula, Adalgrim, and Balin who left them at the garden gate. As Bella welcomed him into the smial with a smile and small bow, it seemed to Thorin like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She looked at home here, and the thought of taking her to the mountain gave him a pang of regret. Shutting the door behind him, she points at his feet and firmly says “boots.” 

He had put them on after the ceremony, not feeling comfortable wandering outside barefoot any longer. Now, with a nod, he sets them neatly by the door. Task accomplished, he simply stands and watches his bride. He suspects, although he never received an outright answer, that hobbit couples are expected to consummate their marriage. Dwarrow have no such customs, and Thorin will not expect such of his wife, who hardly even knows him. His people are not prudish, and he has not observed the hobbits to be – intimacy with a stranger is no taboo, but to start a marriage in such a way feels wrong. He has always thought he would know his partner as well as himself, when he married. 

So he has resolved simply to follow her lead tonight. Though that, too, he worries about. Her Westron consists of only a few words and phrases; there will be no complex communication between them yet. 

Thorin startles a bit when Bella takes his hand. They held hands during the ceremony, of course, and later he held her as they danced. But this feels different, this is the first time she has reached for him. Touched him. 

Bella leads him through the smial. It’s a large home, clearly built for a family. They pass a dusty sitting room and a number of closed doors. He supposes it has been kept empty in the expectation that Bella would move into as an adult and start her own family here. She leads him to a room near the end of the hall. This one has clearly been prepared for them, the bed linens are fresh and the top of the dresser spotless. There is a portrait on one wall, across from the door. Two hobbits, clearly older than Bella but still young, he thinks. The man is wearing a suit with impeccably styled hair, though there is a lightness to the eyes which suggests he may not be as stuffy as the clothing suggests. The woman with her arm around his waist looks wild. Her hair goes every which way, she seems to be laughing, and there is even mud on the edge of her skirts. 

“My parents,” Bella says, walking up to the portrait and softly laying her hand on it. “Belladonna and Bungo Baggins.”

“You look like her.” She stares at him, a frown line between her eyes. If that means she didn’t understand him or disagrees, Thorin isn’t sure. He steps over to stand next to her. Gently, he traces a finger down her cheek and then touches it too the painting of her mother. “You have her eyes.” 

“Took eyes,” she laughs. _“Wild eyes.”_ Thorin shrugs in incomprehension at her second statement. He has not picked up any of the hobbit’s language, he isn’t even sure what the name of it is. Thorin understands the desire to keep their race’s secrets – dwarrow are the same – but the hobbits are even more maddeningly close-lipped than any but the most isolationist dwarf. 

Turning away from him, Bella gestures at the laces holding her dress closed. “Help?” 

Standing behind her, large hands appearing almost crude next to her delicate frame, Thorin marvels at how confident she is. As her dress falls to the ground she turns back to face him, pulls him down into a brief kiss, and then gestures at his own clothing. He sets aside the heavy silver plated belt and she steps closer into his space, small fingers plucking at the laces to his blue tunic. Boldly, the tunic and heavy over coat are pushed off his shoulders, leaving him in undershirt and breeches. 

Stepping back, Thorin casts off the rest of his clothes and lets his eyes linger on her bare form. She is pale, skin unblemished by scars, as his is. A tattoo of a tree sits below her left breast, roots curling down her ribs and branches reaching up towards her heart. He reaches out to trace the crisp black lines and Bella take a hold of his hand again, drawing him to the bed. 

Here, their language barrier slips away. Bella is confident in her motions and Thorin can do naught but follow her. It feels not quite real, like he is in a dream, but at the same time it feels like finally coming home. 

Bella curls into his larger frame after, and falls asleep quickly. Thorin wraps an arm around her and allows his mind to go quiet, slipping into sleep.  
\----------------------------------------------

Thorin has become used to troubled dreams. Between the battle of Azanulbizar and the dragon there is plenty of material for his subconscious to draw from. This dream, though, is not what he’s used to. 

He stands in a vast field, a great hall in the distance to his left and a grove of trees to his right. The hall looks strangely familiar, and the urge to head towards it overcomes him, until a soft voice on the wind whispers in his ear, guiding him to the trees instead. 

In the way of dreams, it feels as if he walks for ages and simultaneously like he has simply appeared at the outskirts of the grove. No birds sing here and no breeze lifts his hair, though the leaves of the trees rustle as he passes, branches swaying gently. It is peaceful here, and Thorin feels the unease which fills his chest begin to dissipate. 

At the center of the grove is a clearing, and a tree made of stone stands alone in the middle. Gems hang off grey branches like leaves. Just as the mountain speaks to those with stone-sense, Thorin can feel this tree. It is _living,_ but there is a strange, dissonant undercurrent to the stone’s song. Abruptly, the unease returns tenfold. Reaching the tree, a black substance oozing out of cracks in the trunk catches his eye. He stretches one hand towards it, but just before making contact the voice on the wind shouts in his ear, and everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hah Thorin thought he was going to get an entire chapter without something ominous


	9. tæflung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this, but later chapters. I promise to have more up very, very soon! Here's a short chapter to let y'all know this is still going strong. Next (much longer chapter!!) will be up by the end of the week. 
> 
> The comments and kudos (but especially the comments!) mean so much to me!! Thanks to everyone you're all precious.

The hobbits had adapted to travel well. Primula suspected that because rationing in the Shire had relaxed - since early crops were already producing - but not ended her fellow hobbits were faring much better with the reduced meals on the road than they normally would have. It had been many months since any of them had a full six meals. 

Travel had thus far been without incident, although the only reason the dwarves had not insisted on trying to go through the Old Forest was that the wagons could not possibly traverse the paths there. Bree had been passed with little fanfare; the group garnered stares and gossip but any rumors of hobbit magic or dwarven curses stayed silent. Just last night Primula had reluctantly admitted to Bella that being on the road was not as terrible as she suspected. 

Bella’s Westron was progressing quickly – no thanks to her husband. Primula and Adalgrim continued to teach her, and the dwarf Nori had also been useful, as well as a few of the guards. Primula was sure Nori was only so helpful because he was trying to get more information on the Hobbits, and Hobbitish, but Bella refused to believe it. 

The real annoyance was not sleeping on the ground or lack of plumbing, but Thorin Oakenshield. He and Bella had left Bag End the morning after their wedding and pleasantly surprised everyone with how well they were getting on. The relationship quickly deteriorated when the caravan started their journey. The dwarf simply has no skill with choosing his words – either in tone or simplicity. His natural manner was gruff and at times somewhat grandiose. Though he had yet to be visibly frustrated by Bella’s lack of comprehension, Bella was quite frustrated with him. Adalgrim had tried to calm her, reasoning that while all Hobbits had experience teaching fauntlings the common tongue, a dwarf prince had probably never had cause to teach anyone another language. 

Primula could have told Adalgrim that logic was not what Bella wanted to hear. But her cousin rarely listened to her counsel when it came to women, so she suspected they would have ended up here anyway.

Here being around the campfire, with Thorin brooding on a rock outside of the firelight’s reach and Bella on the opposite side of the fire pointedly ignoring both him and Adalgrim. 

The four guards that travelled with them were quietly playing a game of dice while Nori attempted to teach Asphodel the rules. The camp ground settled into peace when Bella sighed and joined Nori and Asphodel. Primula hated to bring the tension back, but she had questions she wanted answered before they were even further from the Shire. 

“Mr. Balin, I think it’s time you told us about the dragon and why you need hobbits.” 

Immediately the quiet conversation surrounding the game fell silent, the rattle of the dice settling in their cup sounding terribly loud. Balin’s face as he looked up from the letter he was writing looked painfully resigned.

“Aye lass, I suppose it is.”


	10. bæwylm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long wait, so sorry! I started a new job it's been hectic. But at last what we've all been waiting for... a dragon!

Balin carefully stored his letter, quill, and ink before settling into a more comfortable position and beginning his tale. His voice at first was hoarse, though it grew in strength as the story unwound. 

_“The pines roared that day, even before the dragon arrived. It was a year since word of Thorin’s father, Thrain, being lost in Khazad-Dum had reached the mountain and it was as if the winds themselves screamed their anguish in remembrance. One hundred and seventy years I have lived in Erebor and never did she make such sounds. I think now that perhaps it was a warning as well as a lament._

_Before Thrain ventured to Khazad-Dum, Thror had shown some signs of the gold sickness, but many of the line of Durin do so we thought nothing of it. Often it is nothing worse than the obsession of a craftsman with his work, and none had been grievously afflicted for generations. But Thror, when he learned his son was presumed dead it was like a dam burst. He descended quickly into madness and when the Arkenstone was found only two months later, turning up in our deepest mine, he was lost to us. Day after day he would sit on the throne, crooning over the precious stone as Thorin handled the affairs of state. Each week he ate less, and spent more time sitting up and staring into the pale gem instead of sleeping. By the end Thror was a shadow of the dwarf he once was, in both spirit and body._

_The ravens sighted the dragon before anyone, alerting our guards who sounded the great horn to warn Dale of an enemy approaching. The bells of Dale were ringing in a overwhelming cacophony as Smaug fell upon them. He landed in the middle of the city, crushing houses and lighting the town square on fire before taking to the air again. It was the arrogance of dragons that saved us; giving our guards time to prepare a ballista on the battlements above the gates, as he flew back and forth in front of our mountain, lighting the fields and orchards on fire and laughing as the arrows of dwarrow and men bounced harmlessly off his armored hide. Girion, Lord of Dale, had black arrows small enough to fire from a long bow and damaged a handful of scales on the beast’s belly before falling to the dragon’s claws._

_When word came to the throne room of an impending dragon attack, Thror refused to take up arms. Thorin pleaded with his grandfather to stand and defend their mountain and their people, but he would not leave his throne – most importantly, he would not leave the Arkenstone. And so, as the dragon turned his attention to us at last, Thorin drug his grandfather onto the battlements, neither of them armored or armed but for their swords._

_The smoke from the fires obscured nearly everything, so thick we could not see Dale, only the red glow of the fires there. Smaug came at us out of the darkness, eyes like embers and nostrils glowing like a forge. Standing above that gate and staring down the throat of a dragon was like seeing the fires of Mordor itself._

_Thorin took over the ballista and his first shot cut across the wyrm’s side, leaving a bloody gash, nothing more than an annoyance to him. Smaug gave a great shout in reply, the force of it sent many to their knees. As guards rushed to help Thorin reload with our last black arrow, fire streamed across the battlements. Thror had stood as if in a dream until the fires reached him and then, still clutching the Arkenstone in one hand, drew his sword and leapt forward. The wyrm captured him with one taloned foot and dangled the king in front of Thorin._

_“What will you do now, little dwarf? Will you give me your mountain in exchange for your king, for your kin? Or will you die like so many before you, defiant and useless to the last?”_

_As the beast taunted us, he unintentionally revealed the soft spot in his armor where Girion’s arrows had knocked off a scale, exposing the soft skin beneath. Without a word, Thorin aimed the ballista and fired. His shot hit true, arrow piercing the dragon’s skin and sending both the beast and Thror falling to their death.”_

Balin paused his story then, taking a long draught from the flask of mead he carried at his waist. All around him the camp was quiet, only the fire making any sound as wood crackled and popped. Pale faced, Bella stared at Thorin still seated outside of the firelight. Their eyes met for a long moment, before she broke contact and stared into the flames.

_“Some have said it was Thror’s gold lust which brought the dragon to Erebor, like a moth to a flame. Others say it was the Arkenstone itself. Both are laid to rest now, deep in the Halls of the Dead._

_It was early in the spring last year when Smaug attacked, the snows which might have protected our land already melted and gone. The orchards we relied on for fruit are gone, and the fields seem poisoned by the dragon’s fire. Dwarves are not natural farmers, and the people of Dale are more suited to fishing and herding. Although we rebuilt the city we could not reclaim the land. The trees which survived are weak, our crops do not grow, and the livestock starve on sparse grass._

_Harvests had been dwindling for years, but last year’s paltry gatherings were hardly enough to see us through the winter. The elves of Mirkwood sold us a small part of their reserves. But their prices are steep, and there has never much love lost between elves and dwarrow._

_I fear that although we may have held Erebor against the wyrm, without the help of hobbits we may be forced to choose between staying and starving or abandoning a home which can no longer support us, and thus lose her anyway._


End file.
